"So it's you. I'm glad you came."
"That makes two of us. How long are you free?"
"For as long as you want-if you can pay."
"That's no problem." He smiled as he looked into her eyes, projecting his personality, his obvious admiration. "I've money and I'm in no hurry. But I am hungry and I guess you are too. Something to eat, maybe?"
"That would be nice."
"You'll make the food taste twice as good." He looked at her clothing, a simple dress belted at the waist, one devoid of ornamentation as was her throat, her wrists, her fingers. The bells and chains and displaying garment she had worn on the boulevard were for a different kind of work. "I've been lucky," he said. "And I like to share my good fortune. I'd also like you to remember me. Let's buy something to make sure you do that."
Smiling, she led him to a booth where he bought a bracelet of precious metal set with scintillant gems. An item worth the cost of a High passage but one he could afford. As he could afford the expensive meal, the wine, the liqueurs. Bribes augmented by his charm, his attention and courtesy so that later, in the privacy of her cubicle, she clung to him with genuine passion.
"Earl, my darling! Hold me! Hold me!"
She writhed in the circle of his arms, the warmth of her nudity burning against him, the softness of her flesh triggering his own desire so that it grew to dominate the universe, to flower, to fade in soft murmurings as her fingers searched his face, his naked body.
"A man, Earl. God, you're a man!"
"As you are a woman."
"Do you mean that? Do you really like me?"
"More than like you." He touched in turn and she sighed her pleasure, snuggling close to him. "You are a beautiful woman, Helga."
"Your woman, Earl."
"Mine."
She sighed again and walked her fingers over his torso, soft pads which traced the pattern of scars marring the skin. Old cicatrices; the medals of wounds won in the arena and visible proof of his skill and ability to survive.
"A fighter," she said. "Is that how you won your money?"
"Have you known many fighters?"
"A few."
"Here?"
"No," she was scornful. "Baatz is too soft. How did you get your money?"
He said, blandly, "How did you get to work for the circus?"
"Luck." She stretched against him, her hand sliding over his chest to the muscled plane of his stomach. "I developed fast and had a friend who told me to use what I had. The circus gave me an opportunity. I worked a dance routine for a while then settled for this." Her hand began to move in small circles. "And you?"
"I had a stake in a ship and sold out."
"A good deal?"
"The best." His arm closed around her. "Who buys for the circus?"
A question she ignored as her hand moved faster, lower, her chest heaving as her breath accelerated to a sudden, unaccustomed wave of desire.
"Earl!" Her lips found his own, pressed, fell moistly away. "You're wonderful. Such a man. A hero. So satisfying. Take me, darling. Take me!"
Mechanical words used in an automatic response but beneath them was something more. A feeling expressed by the movement of her body, the hunger of her lips even as she spoke the ritual of commercial love. Dumarest recognized it, knew that she was hampered by lack of true experience, unable to do more than use words and phrases learned by rote. A woman basically a stranger to love but learning and learning fast.
"Darling! Darling!" She heaved against him in demanding fury. "Hold me! Hold me, Earl! Hold me!"
Against the fears and terrors of the unknown; the frightening abyss which lay beyond the boundaries of mechanical sex. A region which demanded emotional surrender and gave in return a hint of paradise.
After, when again the fires had died and she lay snug in the crook of his arm, she said. "Did you mean it when you said you loved me?"
"Yes."
A moment then, as a statement, she said, "You've known a lot of women. You know too much not to have done. Did you love them?"
"Does it matter?"
"You loved them. You had to love them. Some men are like that; with them it's all or nothing. Others are like machines.
They aren't interested in you as a person but simply as a body to be used. There's a difference-God, what a difference!" She reared to lean over him, breasts hanging like succulent fruit. "Am I really your woman?"
For answer he stroked her hair.
"I'd be all you could ever want," she said. "I promise that. And I wouldn't want anyone else but you, ever."
A lie though she didn't know it; her own nature and intense femininity would drive her along the path she had chosen. To love and be loved-even the facsimile of true affection would govern her life.
Dumarest said, "It's nice to think about, but don't you have commitments? A contract?"
"It can be broken. If you've enough money they'd let me go."
The moment he'd been waiting for. He said, casually, "It's a thought. Who would I have to see to make the deal?"
"I could arrange it."
"No, things like that are best done personally." A smile made the remark innocuous, a smile he retained as he said, with equal casualness, "How does it work? I mean, if someone's sold to the circus what happens to them?"
"They have to be trained. Washed, fed, dressed, healed sometimes and taught to walk and stand and smile." Her eyes narrowed a little. "Why the interest?"
"Curiosity. I guess they must be kept in a special place. That dome with the false stairs?"
"That's the infirmary." She stooped to trail her breasts across his face. "Kiss me, lover."
He obliged. "The one with the spirals?"